


Father's Day

by friendofspiderman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence - Spider-Man: Homecoming, Father's Day, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, May Parker is an Amazing Mom, Mother's Day, Pre-Canon, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Sad, Single Parents, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendofspiderman/pseuds/friendofspiderman
Summary: “I—I don’t want to talk here.”“Okay,” she says, “that’s fine, Peter. Can we talk at home, though? Will you meet me there in a half hour?”He doesn’t answer her right away, looking down at the headstone again and hugging his arms around himself. She wants nothing more than to wrap her own arms around her boy, but she doesn’t want to spook him.“I’m not—I was still talking to Ben.” He says with a sniffle, then rubs the back of his red glove across his nose, as if the mask wasn’t there. “I was telling him he’s—he was a good dad.”May takes a few careful steps closer. “He was pretty good, huh?”Peter nods. “The best.”
Relationships: Ben Parker & May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	Father's Day

Peter’s first Father’s Day without his father was on June 17th, 2007.

May remembers it well, mostly for the ways she and Ben tried to correct the mistakes they’d made on May 13th, Peter’s first Mother’s Day without his mother.

For any other semi-recently orphaned five-year-old, these holidays might not have carried so much weight. But for Peter Parker, who’d made it just shy of Kindergarten with two parents who celebrated the occasions like they were Christmas and tried to instill in him the practice of honoring loved ones whenever possible, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day were true events.

Peter understood that his parents weren’t coming back, but he wanted to make May 13th extra special for his mom. May and Ben decided it could be nice to visit the cemetery for the first time since the funeral nine months before and leave flowers at Mary’s grave, along with the little craft Peter had made for his late mother in school.

That was a mistake.

They should have seen it coming when Peter didn’t unbuckle himself as they parked. He was avoiding getting out of the car, and walked incredibly slowly to their destination with May’s hand in his. When they stood at the grave and tried to talk about Mary and how much she loved Peter, he had a breakdown.

Cemeteries are scary places on TV, Peter said, and it was scary that his mommy was under the ground. He didn’t want to see a dead person, and he didn’t want to talk to her. Mother’s Day was supposed to be a party, not a sad and scary day. He wanted to go home.

A baffled Ben scooped Peter up and carried him back to the car, muttering reassurances over and in between their nephew’s sobs. May stayed behind just long enough to leave the flowers, and whisper “He’s okay—we’ve got him, I promise,” to Mary.

So they did Father’s Day differently. May brought out the photo albums; Ben queued up _Finding Nemo_ , Rich and Peter’s favorite “Boys’ Night” pick; and May made the oatmeal peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies Rich used to make for his kid. They remembered Peter’s dad from the comfort of the apartment, and never once brought up the “scary place” where his body was buried. Peter declared the day to be “fun,” and if that was what a Kindergartener needed to process memories of his dad, that was fine with May and Ben.

May never forgot that day. Her five-year-old Peter having to celebrate Father’s Day without a father was entirely unfair, but if she and Ben had anything to do with it, Mother’s Day and Father’s Day would be a party from there on out—occasions to celebrate their loved ones through whatever blend of grief and joy might tag along.

* * *

Eventually, Peter started honoring May and Ben on Mother’s and Father’s Day. May can’t pinpoint a specific year when the celebration shifted—it was a gradual thing, as far as she remembers. Peter came to recognize that his aunt and uncle were more or less his parents, and without any prompting from May or Ben had decided that they deserve just as much, if not _more_ recognition on those special days than Rich and Mary.

Every spring, Peter would go all out surprising her and Ben in increasingly thoughtful ways. Their hearts were full as he brought home crafted “May Day” and “Ben Day” cards from school, sang them songs of his own composition, and baked simple desserts with help from the non-celebrated parent.

They still remembered his biological parents, a tradition that was particularly important to May and Ben. But the holidays appropriately became less about honoring the dead—Peter had a _living_ mom and dad to celebrate.

* * *

Peter’s second first Father’s Day without his father falls on June 19th, 2016.

May dreads the day as it approaches. She’s positive that visiting Ben’s grave will be a no-go—Peter’s still not a fan of cemeteries and gets squirmy visiting his parents to this day.

Other than that, she isn’t sure how she should deal with the situation. Should she ask Peter if he wants to have a “remembering Ben” day? He probably won’t be into that—at the moment, his favorite thing to do is disappear for hours on end and return sporting various minor injuries without explanation. He’s been happier, though—so much happier than he’d been in the first three months after Ben’s passing, and she’s scared instigating a day of grief-infused celebration will send him back into the darkness.

She asks anyway.

“Hey, Peter,” she says exactly ten days before Father’s Day, knowing that’s the general sweet-spot for planning something with her impossibly over-booked fourteen-year-old, “what would you like to do this Father’s Day? I was thinking we could stay home and watch a movie together, maybe one of Ben’s favorites?”

Peter is having cereal at the kitchen table before he races off to school, and now looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I don’t…um…” He won’t meet her eyes. “I don’t really want to do…anything. Yeah. I don’t want to do anything.” He delivers the decisive words impossibly quickly just before inserting a massive spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“Are you sure?” May presses gently. “You’d rather not do anything at all? Not even get dinner together somewhere? Something special?”

His eyes are still trained down. “Dinner’s fine. I just don’t want…I don’t want to, like—celebrate the day or whatever. It, um…it’s too painful.”

The decision hurts May’s heart, but she can’t say she blames him. “Okay. Let’s do dinner, then.”

He nods.

* * *

The nineteenth of June sneaks up on May.

She realizes after sleeping in late that morning she’s forgotten to nail down a specific time for she and Peter’s dinner plans. He’s left a note on the kitchen table indicating he’s hanging out with Ned for the earlier portion of the day, a common weekend habit of his. She texts Peter to see if 5:30 works for dinner.

At 4:00, he still hasn’t answered her text or follow-up phone calls. It’s not as concerning as it would have been nine months ago—Peter’s been horrible with communication over the past few months, but since he always makes it home safely she’s learned to live with it.

She calls Ned—he hasn’t seen Peter and sounds as worried as she is when he learns his best friend is missing.

She calls Mr. Delmar—Peter hasn’t been in for his regular Sunday sandwich, and Delmar hopes the kid’s okay on a difficult day like this.

She calls Peter’s grandmother—that’s a mistake, probably, as Lorraine hasn’t heard from him and begins questioning if May needs help with mothering now that she’s a single parent, and May would really rather not talk about the single parenting thing on this day.

She begins driving to the places Peter and Ben would go together. He’s not been seen at Joe’s Pizza, he’s nowhere to be found at their favorite park, and he’s not visited the Hall of Science.

She’s sick to her stomach and out of ideas.

On another day, May would wait at home and prepare to chastise Peter for not bringing a backup phone charger to wherever he goes for hours on end. She’d assume he’s just out being an irresponsible teenager like he’s done for months now.

But it’s _Father’s Day_. She needs to make sure he’s okay.

May finds herself at the cemetery where Ben lies. She must have driven to the site on instinct. Peter hasn’t asked to visit Ben since the funeral, and knowing his history and his dislike of the place on that day, she’s not expecting him to be there.

She’s come to talk to Ben, maybe tell him about how she’s possibly lost their kid, maybe ask him for advice she longs for but won’t receive, maybe have a good cry before throwing herself back into the search.

She makes her way through the gravel pathway slowly, trying to collect herself even though no one else is around, when she sees him.

There’s someone at her husband’s plot.

Peter’s visiting Ben.

The grave is such a long way off, she’s not sure at first whether it’s really Peter she’s seeing. But she becomes certain as she makes her way closer. His small frame stands in a slumped position. He’s shifting his weight between his feet as he looks down at the headstone. He wrings his hands, a nervous tick he’d developed in middle school.

That’s her boy. She’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

What she wouldn’t recognize as Peter’s, at least not before today, was the outfit.

A red, sleeveless hoodie worn over a long-sleeved blue shirt. A red ski mask and black goggles. Fingerless red gloves.

 _Oh, help_.

Her boy is that spider guy from YouTube.

“Peter?”

His heads whips up and turns to look at her, then cranes around to see if there’s anyone else nearby, watching them. There isn’t.

For a moment, May’s scared he’s going to bolt. He looks to the cemetery’s nearest exit before looking back at her.

“Peter,” she says again, now almost close enough to touch him, “I know it’s you, baby. It’s okay.”

He takes a few steps away from her.

She stops moving and tries to appear as non-confrontational as possible. “I’m not mad, honey. I’m not. You can talk to me.”

May’s not sure where the sense of overwhelming calm is coming from. By all accounts, she should _not_ be calm right now.

Her kid is the guy who swings from thirty-story buildings on a regular basis—like it’s normal, like it’s easy. Her kid is the guy who stops flying school buses from crashing into swarms of people—just with his _hands_. Her kid is the guy who’s lied for months after Ben’s death—who’s given every and any excuse to hide this part of his life from her.

And she’s disappointed, and scared, and angry—she _thinks_. Those feelings are there, they _have_ to be—but they’re buried under stronger ones on the surface, those of concern, and empathy, and love for her boy—feelings that have never had limitations, and never will.

She’s not sure what her reaction would be on another day. But right now, Peter’s standing in front of Ben’s grave on Father’s Day, and his feelings are all that matter. 

The spider guy— _her_ spider guy—finally speaks.

“I—I don’t want to talk here.”

“Okay,” she says, “that’s fine, Peter. Can we talk at home, though? Will you meet me there in a half hour?”

He doesn’t answer her right away, looking down at the headstone again and hugging his arms around himself. She wants nothing more than to wrap her own arms around her boy, but she doesn’t want to spook him.

“I’m not—I was still talking to Ben.” He says with a sniffle, then rubs the back of his red glove across his nose, as if the ski mask wasn’t there. “I was telling him he’s—he was a good dad.”

May takes a few careful steps closer. “He was pretty good, huh?”

Peter nods. “The best.”

He tenses for a millisecond as she puts her hand on his shoulder, but then relaxes. She moves her hand across his back until her arm is around him.

He speaks again in a quieter voice. “I wish I’d told him that more when he was here. So he knew he was—that he was my dad, to me.”

“He knew.” May squeezes his shoulder. “I promise, he knew.”

Peter sniffs again, then laughs weakly. “I should probably stop snotting it up under here, it’s getting gross.”

She smiles and moves her arm off his shoulders. “I’m guessing you don’t take the mask off in public? The spider-guy thing is a secret identity?”

“Yeah,” Peter messes with the sleeveless hoodie’s zipper, “but it’s Spider- _Man_ , actually.”

_Oh._

He’s never referred to himself as a man before, and why should he—Peter is fourteen, he’s still very much a _boy_. In her mind, “Peter” and “man” are about as opposite as two things could be.

He probably chose the name just to sound like the superheroes he admires so much—Iron Man, in particular. He probably just wants to be taken seriously.

But standing at Ben’s grave, May’s painfully aware that losing the last man he had left has forced Peter to grow up too soon. And just like almost everything else about Peter’s life, it isn’t fair. Spider- _Man_ isn’t fair.

“May?” Peter’s looking at her through those ridiculous goggles, and if she can’t see the unease in his eyes, she can hear it in his voice. “Can I stay a little longer? I was—I wanted to show Ben that his kid—that I’m a superhero.”

The tears finally come. She knew it was only a matter of time. “Sure, baby. Take your time.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for her hand, and she feels guilty because she knows he hates to see her cry. “I was going to show you, sometime—”

“Shh,” she squeezes his hand back, ignoring the strange feeling of some techy glove for her own sanity, “let’s talk when we’re back home, yeah? It’s all okay.”

“I’ll come back soon, I promise. I know we have a dinner date.”

Oh. Right. He’s Spider-Man, and Ben’s dead, and also—it’s _Father’s Day_.

It isn’t fair that her fourteen-year-old Peter has to spend this day in a new state of mourning for the second time in his short life. Father’s Day is supposed to be a party, not a day to mourn Ben Parker. It isn’t fair, and she can’t make it better this time around with a movie, or cookies, or photo albums.

There’s nothing she can say, except: “Okay, Peter. See you soon.”

May squeezes his hand one last time and whispers “I love you” before leaving him to Ben. She takes a deep breath as she walks away, thinks about her baby fighting crime in that sweatsuit, and glances back over her shoulder at her husband’s plot.

_He’s okay, Ben—I’ve got him, I promise._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @friendofspidermannedleeds, come say hi! :)


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